I
Young like a false-leaved sapling,
full of life, energy and crying
comes a baby; Born just now,
innocent and unsuspecting.
The first years are a merry enjoyment,
Like the calm before a Tsunament.
Still blissful, still ignorant,
waiting for the agony's commencement.
The tomb, the coffin, the pyre
of the child's thought;
Which is the community's lyre.
The alphabet is taught, the memory is trained,
to stand the yet to come strain.
So sensitised are they
to bring home a grade;
The happiness is lost,
intellect begins to fade.
The semi-annual hazard
needs to be mitigated;
all alone, it needs to be contested
The revelation comes;
The reasons are explained,
as to why this torture
needs to be entertained.
The means is forced,
rather than told.
the goal is set,
when they are oblivious
to the guillotine.
Determination is cultivated
so the slavery
is waived off as voluntary.
And the noose of the system
still remains satisfactory.
Still alone the student wades
this academic muck,
trusting his luck
for passage through this endless crave
for a yet better grade.
II
Then, from the horizon
comes floating, the real surreality
and the race begins,
to attain the delusive.
Success's only gate
it seems; And entrance to it
seems each one's fate.
But, too narrow it is, to accommodate
the volume of its applicants.
Each escapist is shaken
and brought back to senses.
And each finds, that all dreams are broken.
And back again they reel
with a fresh wave of zeal,
a new alacrity, a new ambition
does the wheel spin.
Ignorant in the bliss,
of yet another pin.
-Venkat Arun
